M.A Gonzales

The wind whipped as the blizzard pushed against the glass panes of the castle windows. Prince Tristan ignored the storm in favor of the roaring fire in the comfort of his library. While sipping brandy, he mulled over his situation. He was bored and he should not be. He was a Prince, after all.

Jameson, the butler, cleared his throat from the doorway of the library. "Excuse me, your Highness, but there is someone here, begging to speak with you."

Tristan came to his feet. "Someone seeking shelter, perhaps?" he muttered just before he downed the rest of the brandy. A small smile touched his sensual lips as he walked down the corridor. Perhaps a beautiful young maiden was seeking refuge from the bitter cold. His home could warm her, and perhaps in his bed he could warm her even more.

He smiled, turning on his charm as he walked into the room where the guests were always led, but the smile faded as his eyes fell upon the woman waiting to speak with him. Instead of the beautiful young maiden he had expected, stood an old, ugly woman dressed in tattered rags and worn shoes. Tristan crinkled his nose at the horrible odor coming from the woman.

"Why did you bring her in?" He scolded, turning his head to look at Jameson, who currently stood with his head bowed. 

"I could not leave her out there, Your Highness. The blizzard could kill a young man in his prime and…well, look at her."

"Exactly!" Tristan snapped. "Look at her." He looked back at the old woman, disgust on his face. "She is smelling up my castle as we speak."

"Please, Your Highness," croaked the old woman. "Offer me shelter from this horrible storm."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dingy, old necklace with a cross. "I can offer you this cross as a token of my gratitude."

Tristan turned his nose up at the ugly gift she offered in return for his hospitality.

"No. I am sorry, but there is no room for you here." He flicked his wrist at Jameson. "Show her out."

"Please, Your Highness. I beg you not to be repulsed by my appearance. I beg you not to turn me out into the blizzard, where I will surely die."

The old woman’s pleas fell upon deaf ears as Tristan stood staring at Jameson.

"What are you waiting for? I gave you my command!"

"But, Your Highness…"

"Do as I say!" His voice was stern and unapologetic. "Turn her out." 

At that very moment, a bright golden light engulfed the room. Tristan and Jameson turned to where the old woman stood, and stared in shock as her ugliness melted away, revealing a beautiful young woman.

"An Enchantress," Tristan whispered as he fell to his knees. "Please forgive me."

"Three times, I asked for your shelter, and three times you turned me away."

She stared down at Prince Tristan as she removed the blood-red hood of her cloak. She shook her head.

"Three times I gave you a chance to redeem yourself, and three times you refused. You have proven that no love resides in your heart."

"Please, forgive me."

He pleaded over and over again, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears, just as the pleas of the old woman had.

"It is too late." Gently, she laid her hand on his head. "I place a spell on you, Prince Tristan. By day, you shall walk as a man. By night, you will turn into the beast you are."

"No!" Tristan looked down at his hands, which had already begun to change. "Please! Please…" His human voice faded, replaced by the howl of the wolf.

Sliding the now beautiful cross around his neck, she looked down at the Prince and smiled sadly, but he had brought this upon himself. 

"This cross will allow you to postpone your change from man to wolf, but only for a little while. Your servants shall not suffer anything from this curse I have placed upon you, and they will know nothing of your suffering."

She reached into the pocket of her cape pulling out a black bud. She placed the bud on the ground before the wolf.

"This dead, black bud will bloom into a beautiful rose. The color that it first blooms into does not matter. The color the rose must change to is white. The rose will bloom beautifully and without fail for five years. Then it will begin to wilt and die. You have until the time when the last petal falls to break your curse. If you do not, then a wolf you shall remain. Only one thing is required to break this curse. You must love another more than yourself. Your love for her must be so great, that you are willing to lay down what is most precious to you— your own life. That alone will not be enough to save you, for she must love you in return. Then, and only then, will the spell be broken."

In a brilliant flash of golden light, the Enchantress was gone.

"Oh, Your Highness," Jameson whispered dropping to his knees in front of his prince. "What have you done?"

As the years passed, Tristan gradually lost hope. How could he ever love someone when he did not know what love was? How could any woman look past the beast he had become and love him in return?